


None Shall Sleep: A Tale of Quarantine

by CrystalOfTheIceWings, RosesAndThorns (CrystalOfTheIceWings)



Series: Hello From Quarantine [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coronavirus, Crack Treated Seriously, Disclaimer: I live in WA (US) not Italy, Gen, I was inspired by that viral video with the guy who sang Nessun Dorma on a balcony, I'm sorry if I've offended any Italians, Italy, One Shot, Quarantine, Quarantine in Italy, Raoul and Erik live together, Series, Singing, singing on a balcony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalOfTheIceWings/pseuds/CrystalOfTheIceWings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalOfTheIceWings/pseuds/RosesAndThorns
Summary: In a nation under lockdown, a man scarred in both face and soul, encouraged by his friend, bares his soul and sings to the world.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny & Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Series: Hello From Quarantine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675573
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	None Shall Sleep: A Tale of Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> A major disclaimer: I DO NOT live in Italy. I live in Washington State. 
> 
> Another disclaimer: This is kind of cracky, but I take it seriously. 
> 
> Yet another disclaimer: I wrote this to get my coronavirus frustrations out.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

It was spring in Italy. That usually meant people strolling about in the streets, laughing, children playing, birds singing their little songs, the sun smiling down on all. But it was deathly quiet in Florence. The streets were deserted, as people were only allowed to head out to retrieve necessities such as groceries, and laughter could not be heard anywhere. Even the birds seemed afraid to chirp and break the still silence.

In a flat high in an apartment building, Erik stood on a balcony and watched the sun set over the city, painting the skies with streaks of brilliant orange, the tall silhouettes of buildings stark against the wan light. Erik would have enjoyed it if it weren’t for the horrible silence–it crept under his skin and gave him chills. It felt unnatural for someone who had grown up and lived in Florence.

Erik felt his friend brush his shoulder. “Sure is quiet here,” Raoul said, stepping onto the balcony and glancing at the alley far below. It was deserted. “Ever since the virus, and the quarantine… ”

“That was what I was just thinking,” Erik said as Raoul pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his Twitter feed. Erik had never understood his friend’s appreciation for social media. He was so carefree and outgoing. Erik had once been like that, but ever since he lost his face… 

“Hey.” Raoul tapped Erik’s shoulder. “Look at this.” He tapped the screen, and it started to play a video.

The video was of a man singing on a balcony. He sang  _ Nessun Dorma _ passionately, and the music appeared to touch Raoul’s heart. “He’s from Florence,” he explained once the video had concluded. “Just like us. You can sing like this too, can you?” He looked up from the phone and his blue gaze met Erik’s. “Right? You were an opera singer once.”

Erik protested at once. “But I’m not like that anymore, not since my time in Iraq.” He lowered his eyes and gazed over the balcony once more. Once upon a time, he had a wonderful life singing at the Teatro Della Pergola. But he  _ had  _ to sign up to fight in Iraq, eager to fight terrorists. And then a rocket grenade had blown his face and life to pieces, and he had been sent back home. 

It had been over a decade since that fateful day–his fellow soldiers yelling through the comm, the abandoned, half-destroyed buildings, and the abrupt ringing and sharp, unbearable pain that had ruined him… 

“Hey.” Erik felt Raoul nudge his shoulder, delivering him from the darkness of his mind. “You were starting to hyperventilate. It was the memories again, right?”

Erik took a shuddering breath and nodded. If it weren’t for Raoul, he would have gone mad a long time ago from the scars, from both the ones on him and within him. “Raoul, you know I don’t sing anymore. I quit a long time ago.” Erik’s hand moved up to trace the burn scars on his own face. 

Raoul leaned over and grasped Erik’s hand, lowering it from his face. “Erik, it’s dangerous to brood on the past. We could lose ourselves. And besides… there’s always something to live for.” Their eyes made contact again, Erik’s amber eyes and Raoul’s cerulean. 

“How about the coronavirus, and the quarantine, and all that?” Erik questioned. He immediately wished he could take that back. His tongue had been too sharp. His friend didn’t deserve that.

“ _ Andrà tutto bene, _ ” said Raoul.  _ Everything is going to be alright _ . He glanced around the balcony; twilight had fallen, and the neighbors’ lights were turning on. A sliver of sunshine still streaked over the western horizon. “You should give us something to live for, to be happy for, Erik. The neighbors will enjoy it. A pleasant rendition of  _ Nessun Dorma _ , perhaps, like that person on Twitter.”

Erik was about to protest, but decided against it. Raoul had always been nothing but kind to him, and Erik had been nothing but grumpy, too grumpy. He should, perhaps, give something in return. “All right,” he grumped. “But only  _ once _ , and that’s it.”

Raoul nodded as Erik warmed up his vocal cords. The notes gave him an elated feeling, one that he hadn’t experienced for too long. And then he took a deep breath.

“ _ Nessun dorma! _ ” he sang. “ _ Nessun dorma! _ ” 

The wind stilled, the chatter of neighbors ceased. It seemed as if the world was holding its breath.

“ _ Tu pure, o Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore, e di speranza! _ ”

Some curious neighbors opened their windows, stepped onto the balconies. They heard someone singing, and the music beckoned to them.

“ _ Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun saprà! No, No! Sulla tua bocca, lo dirò quando la luce splenderà! _ ”

Some neighbors tugged out their phones and began to record the music. Some stood still, afraid to make a noise that would interrupt the music that bound them all.

“ _ Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio che ti fa mia! _ ”

The neighbors couldn’t see much. All they sighted was a tall dark figure in the night, singing jubilantly and trembling slightly. Another figure stood by him, holding his hand. The music clutched and held fast to their hearts and their souls, swept over the tall, shadowy buildings, and soared into the vast night.

“ _ Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba, vincerò! _ ”

Erik sang in a way that few people have ever sung. His voice held pain and anger and sadness and joy, all woven together into something grand, bigger than himself–it consisted of all his collected memories, his experiences, his moments of sorrow and his moments of rapture. The last piercing rays of the sun vanished under the rolling hills of the nation–one that had seen much, felt much, underwent much–and for one brief moment, it seemed to sing with him.

“ _ Vincerò! Vincerò! _ ”

And for that one brief moment, Erik felt nothing except his voice ringing through the land, and Raoul holding his hand, and the night sky above him–and maybe, just maybe, he heard the voices of his ancestors whispering to him: “ _ At dawn, we will win. We will win. We will win. _ ”

And after Erik had spent all his energy baring his scarred soul to all that would hear, the neighbors applauded and cheered, and wolf whistles split the night, and he felt fulfilled, as if he had done something good for once.

“Let’s go back indoors,” Raoul suggested, and Erik barely had the strength to nod in compliance.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And if you're Italian, I'm sorry if I've offended you or anything with inaccurate information or anything. Anyways, back to the legit fic in which I was supposed to write another chapter.
> 
> And if I feel like it, I MIGHT write a similar corona fic in the Seattle region with Meg and Christine. I don't know, though.


End file.
